


Perish

by somethinginbetween



Series: Lunae [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29313393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethinginbetween/pseuds/somethinginbetween
Summary: Derek snapped at them, forcing them on. They’d search every dockside, upend every town until his Omega was returned to him. And then Stiles would pay.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Lunae [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153103
Comments: 15
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a sequel to Lunae. I couldn't decide which ending to do so I said 'frick it' and did both of them.
> 
> Each chapter in 'Perish' occurs in the same time period as 'Mate." This makes for some short chapters and some too long chapters to get the time constraints right.

As Derek ran with Boyd and Cora, he cursed himself. He’d treated his Omega too gently, hadn’t shown Stiles who was the Alpha.

When he found Stiles that would be it. He’d have the omega every way possible whether Stiles wanted it or not. He’d learn his place and this humiliation would never ever happen again.

Boyd and Cora had slowed behind him and he snapped at them. Now was not the time to rest. He pushed them harder.

They’d search every dockside, upend every town until his Omega was returned to him. And then Stiles would pay.

▲▲▲

When Stiles woke it was cold. The clear light of day filtered though the rush of water and he noticed that he was covered in mud. But he’d survived his first night and that was something.  
He peered out. The coast was clear. He slipped out of the nook and began running.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, just a self promo but I recently finished a fic called 'Guardian'. Its a supernatural two-shot and I'm actually super proud of it. Even if you don't like spn (and I don't lol) I think its worth a read.
> 
> Also trigger warnings for this chapter, Stiles goes through some difficult shit.

He was always cold. Even with the thick layers of fur and expensive cloak the cold rooted deep inside him and never let go. If he hadn’t been a were, Stiles knew he would have perished from exposure.

The search parties continued, day and night and the only thing that had saved him were the trees. He remembered climbing the rigging of swaying ships as a child, looking down at the laughing crew who compared him to the small monkeys from Trenlios. 

Now he hid high in the branches, allowing the pine to cover his scent and the wind god to drown out his rapid heartbeat. Willing the search parties not to look up.

They hadn’t yet.

Initially there had been many, some traveling alone, some in packs, and one time an entire village. He’d heard them crashing through the leaves and snow from far away.

There were less now, and they were normally on their own. But those were even more difficult to hear coming and both the anxiety and cold kept him awake through the long hours of the night.

On the seventh day, his food ran out and he was reduced to eating any nuts and roots he could scrounge up. The hunger made his stomach ache with a sharp pain.

And every night, he heard the howls. Were howls, deep into the night.

His time in the Lunae wilderness had sharpened him and he could even make out Derek’s howl. ‘Come home’ it said, mournful and sad. Come home come home come home.

Stiles grit his teeth and swallowed down the thick bitter acorn paste. I’m going home. 

Memories traveled with him. His mother above him, smiling, teaching him how to read. His father, teaching him how to chart a course, “You have to know where you are to find where you are going."  
Lydia, laughing, leaning down and kissing him.

Darker memories as well, Derek above him, raping him. The blurry bloodshed as Stillsea was invaded and the inhabitants put to sword.

The trees became his friends. Strong and silent, watching over him as he starved.

“It is better to live in a painful freedom than a luxurious prison.” He told them. He could feel himself losing strength as he traveled, weakened from his hunger. Sometimes it rained and Stiles had to run to keep himself from freezing to death.

He didn’t dare visit the holdfasts that were scattered through the forested kingdom. They lined the river and he gave them a wide berth, but always made sure to come back to the water. The river was saving him, he knew. Giving him water, hiding his waste. The animals came to the water to drink as well and if he was lucky he could catch rabbit or a squirrel. They were small and scrawny but with freezing fingers he gratefully gulped them down raw.

His nights were restless and uncomfortable. He only dared to sleep in the trees. One time he had dozed off deeply and had woken right as he’d tumbled off the branch. He grasped out, reaching for anything and there had been another branch and he clutched at it thankfully. A broken leg here would kill him, he knew. But he dared not sleep on the ground, even this far away from the castle. 

One day, when he woke, his thighs were slick with blood. Cramps racked his body and for one horrible moment he thought that Derek had somehow found him and raped him but he was still in the tree and alone. He painstakingly climbed down and limped to the river. The water was freezing cold but he needed to be clean. Blood is too easily tracked.

But no matter how much water he cupped over himself, the blood continued to flow. The cramping was growing worse, and it was eating him up. The world was spinning around him, and he found he could no longer hold himself up. He collapsed on the riverbank. The ground was soft dirt underneath him.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there staring at the sky. But it took time for him to care again. To care that he was running away and that he needed to escape. All he cared about was rest. 

He couldn’t stay in one place, he reminded himself. Not bleeding like this. They would find him and he'd be taken back. Only a few more days, he told himself. If he could just hold out a little longer.

When he stood up, the world was no longer spinning. It took all his strength to take a step.

As he limped forward, the trees whispered out to him with a voice that he knew, “That was our child.” 

Stiles closed his eyes, “You’re not real.”

“Real, not real. What is the difference? I’m real to you.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Leave me alone.”

“That miscarriage is real.”

“I know.” He was sobbing, he realized. Hot tears trickling down his face.

“We could have had a child.”

A rock was in his hands and he turned and threw it at his mate but there was nothing there. Empty space. Only the trees were around him, constant and relentless.

I am going insane, he realized.

At that moment, he almost gave up. He almost burrowed down into the ground, stopped walking, turned around to beg help at the nearest village, damn the consequences.

Almost.

He steadied himself against the nearest tree, “This isn’t about you.” He furiously told himself, “This is for your people. The ones who died for you.” He owed this to his father. He owed this to his kingdom.

Take one step, he told himself. Just one more. Just one more. Just one more.

Sometimes it was Lydia who walked beside him, sometimes it was his parents.

They were at the edges of his vision, but every time he turned and looked at him they disappeared.

Lydia crossed her arms and pouted her lips, those emerald eyes shimmering, “What do you notice?”

“I’m in bad shape.”

“Correct Lord Obvious. But not everything is about you.”

“I’m dying. I think this one thing can be about me.”

“Please. You’re too clever to die. Or at least I thought you would be. What do you notice Stiles?”

His head was throbbing, “The forest is thinner than it was.”

“Which means?”

“We’re close.”

"Correct." She said, whispering to him, "Don't give up."

His mothers voice came to him now, “My sweet sweet boy. Look at what they’ve done to you.”

“I’m not dead yet.”

“You will be dead if you don’t start using your brain. What does a thinning forest mean for you?”

“It means I will have less protection.”

“Correct. You'll be easier to catch. What else does it mean?"

"It means this is my last day sleeping in trees."

He found an Aspen tree, still young but large enough, and gasping with pain, he pulled himself up. When he woke they were gone.

The trees gave way to fields, newly planted with seedlings spinning up. He’d reached Neres, he realized. Spring had come, and against all odds he’d escaped Lunae. Anxiety still followed his every step. What if this was all a trap? What if he was just running right back to Derek?

The huts grew into houses and houses into towns. The river grew foul beside him, brown murky water that smelled terrible. It covered up his scent well but he dreaded drinking from it. But it was that or die of dehydration. 

He slept in burrows in the ground and under rocky alcoves, not daring to approach any humans.

He was still close to the border and no doubt these people either were weres or knew one. And everyone wanted to get in the good graces of the Hales.

He studied the map. He’d be coming across the city soon. His father’s voice came to him, Neres, a vile land, full of corruption and greed. Not as a hallucination, thank the Triad.

He came across a fruit tree, whose unripe apples were green and measly. Stiles didn’t care, he was too hungry to care.

He’d spent the rest of the day retching up clear slime, his stomach twisting and cramping.

The next day he was shitting brown fluid and he was worried he had reached the last of his strength. 

But as he forced himself forward he saw the city rise in the distance. 

Large and unplanned, the capital of Neres was a confusion of brothels, shops, and towers. Thieves and cutpurses prowled the streets, waiting to prey on any unsuspecting individual.

There used to be walls around the city, but Talia and her weres had pulled them down brick by brick.

He limped toward it, worried he was hallucinating. He hadn’t dared to drink the river water in the past couple days, so brown and dirty it was. But as he walked the city grew, until he was among the streets. A vendor called out to the people, selling a bowl of soup. Stiles stomach growled.

He’d made it. With rags on his back, alone, starving and dehydrated to a city that loved him not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments, they mean the world.


	3. Chapter 3

He wandered through the markets, taking in the sights and smells. Neres was an unplanned city that sprawled outward. The nicer buildings were built out of stone with straw thatching but most were squat ugly piles on the ground. The sounds reminded him of Stillsea but the atmosphere was different here, more dangerous. It was an old kingdom, built on slavery. The kings changed with the seasons and there were as many revolts as kings. No one rebelled now though. Not against the wolves.

He walked until he found the poorer streets, lined with fecal matter and old beaten cobblestone. And there he found a building he was looking for.

Scantily clad women and men filtered in and out of the doors with their different patrons. At the top window the sounds of loud love making filtered through. 

He walked up and addressed one of the figures casually leaning up against the wall, “Is there a madam or pimp here? Or someone in charge?”

The man in front of him looked him up and down and Stiles became acutely aware of his filthy hair and dirt-stained attire. But this boy was wearing nipple tassels and see-through shirt so Stiles didn’t let himself get too shaken.

“Who wants to know?”

“Nobody important.”

“Obviously.”

But he led him inside all the same. 

The interior was not as seedy as Stiles had originally pictured. It was clean enough, and the incense not so cloying. The decorations lining the walls were tacky, giving no semblance of luxury.

In the back a broad-shouldered woman was whispering to one of the harlots. She broke off as they approached, “Who’s this?”

“Dunno. Said he wants to speak to ya.”

“And you just let him? We don’t know who he is.”

The boy looked uncomfortable, “I was watchin’ him.”

“I’m sure you were. Go on then, get out of my sight.”

The boy left and the woman scanned him, “What’ll you want then?”

“I’ve come to offer you my services.”

“Services?” She laughed and looked him up and down, “Where did they pull you out of then? The gutter?”

He was blushing, he realized, face completely red. She grabbed him by the arm and turned him around, “Gods, skinny as a stick. It makes no matter either way though, we’re full booked up for the likes o’ you.”

Stiles turned back around, “I know I’m not much to look at but I have other talents. I can cook, sew, clean, and I know how to read…”

She gave a pause at that, “You can read?”

“Yes ma’am and I know my numbers as well.”

She grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and handed it to him, “Prove it.”

“By order of High Alpha Talia Hale, taxes will be raised by two coppers.”

She looked impressed, “I’ll be damned. A gutter rat that knows how to read. What’s your story boy?”

“My mother married me off to a high lord. He might have been rich but he treated me rough.”

“Oh yea?” She put her hands on her hips, “Which lord?”

“Feldspar.”

Feldspar was a old family name of Neres. He was betting there had to be at least a couple mean old rich fat men with that name.

She squinted at him, then abruptly walked to the door and whistled.

The boy in the nipple tassels appeared again.

“Show him around and find him a place. And give him a bath.”

The boy looked him up and down again and the madam clouted him on the ear, “No mouthing off.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I could feel the words hatching.”

He rolled his eyes, “Follow me.”

The boy led him through the rooms, “Name's Liam. That’s Madam Mabel but most of us just call her Ma. You?”

“My name is…” He couldn’t go by Stiles anymore, could he? “Well, my mother called me Mischief.”

“And what do the lover’s call you?”

“Often.”

Liam laughed.

The house was three stories, “We’re not as fancy as the Goldflower or the Silk Sheet but we made do. And we’re far better off than the Mermaid, their whores will steal sooner than sleep with you. And they’ll give you fleas. Although I think you might already have some of those.”

They passed a drunken man chasing a giggling woman who looked four months pregnant, “You got any diseases?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re going to have to check that. You’re too skinny to work though. You hungry?”

Starving. “Yes.”

“I can get you a meal but everything costs money here. Most of us are in debt to Ma.”

The bread was dense and delicious. Stiles ripped at it like a wild animal, swallowing without even chewing as Liam looked on in disgust. Stiles was too hungry to care.

Liam cut away his old rags and gave him a bath. The water was lukewarm and smelt of sulfur but nothing had ever felt so good in his life. His matted hair was cut away and he got new clothes of hard-spun course linen. No fabric had ever felt so fine.

By nightfall, Stiles felt like himself again.

In the morning, Stiles was shaken away by Ma, “Oi does the new recruit think he can sleep forever like a queen? Get up. There’s work to be done.”

There were three children at the brothel, James, Layla, and Mateo, and Stiles worked beside them, scrubbing floors, cleaning linens, and preparing meat and mead. His strength had been sapped from his hellish journey and they proved to be far better at the jobs than he was.

At one point Layla caught him slipping a slice of meat from the platter, “You’ll want to be more careful with that. If Ma or one of the others catches you they’ll make you regret it.”

But come nightfall, when all of their rooms were full, Ma pulled him close, “You are to teach them how to read. They’re good kids, all three. And smart too.”

And so night after night, Stiles sat among the glow of the candle and began to teach them the alphabet. 

Sometimes the other whores would sit in as well, even Ma. He started them off with easy rhymes and numbers to ten. Ma had been right, they were quick children. Mateo loved to sing, Layla took to rhyme and James was so good with numbers. They'd learn until Ma sent them to bed and even then he'd hear them singing the alphabet.

Liam warmed to him and introduced him to Shelly and Mason, two other workers. They whispered gossip and stories to him in secret and he discovered that Layla and Matteo were Ma’s grandchildren, while James’ mother had worked under Ma and passed away.

Strangely, he found himself happy and content. He was getting enough food and as coarse as the company was, they were fun. Shelly made bawdy jokes and Mason put them to song. Liam made cutthroat observations about the patrons that made even Ma crack a smile. On Mateo’s birthday, Ma made donuts that were thick and oily but sweet and tasty. 

He was still heavily in debt. He knew he’d have to take a patron soon, and Ma had been hinting him to get on with it. But not now, he told himself. He was still healing.


	4. Chapter 4

When Stiles was collecting chamber pots when they entered. Three Alphas, large and cocksure, with strides that tell the world that they own it.

Stiles used to have a presence like that. 

He shrunk into the wall, hoping the smell of urine would cover his scent. They didn’t waste the effort to look at him.

Alphas didn’t normally frequent the establishment, preferring the Silk Sheet and the more upper class brothels that they could afford.

It had grown quiet, he noticed, whores and patrons alike falling silent and looking at the ground.

They entered Ma’s office with no resistance, shoving the door open harshly.

Stiles focused his hearing toward the interaction.

“Do you have it?”

“Right here. All accounted for, every piece.”

He heard the clink of coins being sorted, “You’re missing some.”

“No, it’s all there. With the additional two coppers.” Ma’s voice was steady but underneath her heartbeat thrummed like a rabbit.

Suddenly he heard a crash, “Stupid human. The price has gone up two silvers.”

Stiles moved to stop them, to do something, but at the door he froze with the rest of them. What could he do against them? One Omega verses three Alphas.

Layla and James were cowering in the corner. He saw Ma on the floor, clutching at her face. But still unbowed, she spoke, “The paper said two coppers.”

The female were moved forward and Stiles knew someone was about to get hit, whether it be Ma or one of the children, but still he didn’t move. They’d know he was an Omega. They’d know he was a Hale.

All of a sudden he was being pushed to the side, “Is there a problem, my good Alphas?” Liam asked, his voice sickeningly sweet. Mason and Shelly accompanied him, their movements seductive but their heartbeats telling.

“This whore has our money.” The female said. Stiles was struck by her flat uncaring voice. She was about to beat a woman and two children and still she seemed completely unaffected.

Shelly placed her hand on her arm and stroked it, “Money is tight around here, I’m sad to report. But I’m sure we can find a compromise.”

The female were grabbed her and drew her closer, massaging her ass. Mason and Liam mirrored her movements, leading each one upstairs.

Stiles went to help Ma and the children.

▲▲▲

Liam was the last to limp down the stairs. He had scratches and bites littering their bodies, just like the rest of them and looked well on his way to a black eye.

Shelly cursed as Stiles dabbed vinegar on her lip, “Fucking tax collectors.”

“Does this happen every month?” Stiles asked.

“Like clockwork.” She spit into a bucket. Her phlegm was red.

“We know they’re pocketing half of what they take from us.” Mason was covering up his bruise with makeup, “Half at least.”

“Can’t you appeal to the warden?” Stiles was threading a needle. His needlework skills had become useful.

Liam laughed. It was sharp and bitter, “Look at where you are Mischief. Do you think anyone cares about us?”

“Not only are we human, we’re whores.” Shelly said, ‘No better than regular animals.”

She winced as he sewed up a vicious slash on the side of her hip. Liam scraped himself off the floor and checked his his crotch in a mirror, “Fucking Lunae weres. Even when I was a slave I lived better than this.”

“It started off pretty rare,” Mason said, “But now it’s every time. And it hurts too. They like to knot us and our bodies are just not really built for that sort of thing.”

Stiles finished with Shelly and turned to Liam. He wasn’t looking too good either, with claw marks down his back. Stiles began to sew him together with small, even stitches. He wondered if Kira would be proud.

“Ennis is a fucking masochist.” Liam said, “I’m terrified that one day he’s going to go too far.”

Shelly sighed as she turned to her makeup, “At least we’ll have tomorrow off. Ma gives us some pocket change and we go shopping.”

“Let me go shopping with you tomorrow.” Stiles offered. Ma wouldn’t like it. She kept her investments close and he owed too much to her to step a foot outside.

Liam shrugged, “You’re welcome to join us. We’ll make sure you don’t run away.”

“We’re going to have to work together if this is going to work. I’ve got a plan.”

Shelly snorted, “Why? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make them stop.”


End file.
